A man in a yellow-brown tabard sat on a garden wall. He stared into space, scratched the stubble on his chin. Katrina stopped her horse and called to him.
"Where's your commander?"
"Huh?" The militiaman didn't look at them.
"Your commander."
His gaze crept upwards, but only as far as her horse's face.
"The square. She's in the square."
Katrina rode on. Silas gave him one last look, then followed.
The breeze shifted. It brought the smoky-sweetness of summer roasts, of pigs that'd glistened on spits and made Silas' mouth water. But another smell followed. His brain recoiled and stomach churned. Memories of feasts dissolved.
People moved around the square. Streaks of dirt and ash smeared their militia tabards. Voices blended with the buzzing of flies. Silas slapped one insect away from his face. But they weren't interested in him. Most swarmed around the piles of dead, revelled above them in mad spirals. A couple of militiamen drove them off with flaming torches. They rallied and made a battle of it.
"Urgh!" A young woman stumbled from an unfinished pyre, squatted down, and vomited. She groaned, then threw up again.
"Oi!" An older woman laid more kindling atop the heap. A foot poked out from the pyre's layers, and she pushed it back under a drape. "If you want to chuck up, go some'ere else. Respect for the bloody dead!"
Her tabard had a crest stitched onto the back. The world's worst griffin, if Silas had to guess.
Katrina dismounted. Silas did the same, and grabbed both sets of reins while Katrina approached her.
"Captain?"
"What?" The woman wiped her brow with her sleeve, brushed back a tangle of brown and grey hair. She looked round. "We're…"
She stared. Silas couldn't blame her. Katrina's scars might've intimidated a hardened general. After a moment, she barked a couple of orders, then came over.
"I'm Katrina von Talhoffer. This is Silas Renshaw."
"From Tensia?"
"Yes, we came from the academy. You're the one who sent the bird?"
The woman nodded and wrestled a glove off her hand.
"Cap'n Gertrude Sarminder."
They shook.
"Come wi' me. I'll show you what we found."
She walked away, shouting instructions as she went. Katrina followed and beckoned for Silas to do the same. He glanced around.
"Here." The young woman was back on her feet. She followed his gaze, winced, and wiped vomit off her chin. "I'll take 'em."
"Thanks." Silas handed over the reins and jogged after them.
Leaves blanketed the lane, and even they were tainted. Blood and gore smeared autumn hues. Silas stepped between the clumps. Captain Sarminder led them to a wreck of a house, little different from the others they passed. The women went into the garden. Silas paused, and examined the carvings on the gatepost. Two symbols marred the stone. One was a… tree? Maybe a human figure. The other was a collection of blobs and lines. Perhaps an animal of some kind. What had these meant to the folk who'd lived here? He'd never know, because Kharji blades had cut them down. Now their secrets, their family lore, burned atop pyres. He touched the images and sighed.
"Silas."
"Oh. Sorry."
He joined Katrina and the three of them went inside, through a kitchen, into the hallway. A red stain covered a section of floor, almost from wall to wall. Silas grimaced when the captain trod on it. He almost expected a phantom to shriek and curse.
"Body here," Sarminder said. "Nowt special about it. Run through wi' a sword, poor thing. Lasses took it 'fore they found the others. Told them to leave those ones be."
She moved aside and gestured at the doorway at the end of the corridor. Katrina went through. Silas and Sarminder followed, into the stink of immolation.
"Knew at once these weren't killed wi' no blade."
"No," Katrina said.
She crouched beside a wreck that'd once been a bed. There wasn't room to pass her, and Silas didn't want to. He swallowed the moisture in his throat. Fire had charred the two corpses on the floor, but couldn't disguise what claws and teeth did to them.
Katrina brought her hand to her face, as if she wanted to cover her eye and blind herself to this butchery. Instead, she lifted her eyepatch. Silas and Sarminder gawped. The captain turned to him. He fought the urge to shrug or gesture, tried to keep his face neutral. What the hell was his mistress doing?
"Yes." She put the patch back down. "There was an encounter here. Are these the only ones?"
"No. Two more, ou'side."
Silas met Katrina's gaze but she went past without a word. He traipsed after them once more, and wondered if he'd imagined it. But the militia captain's reaction belied that. If anyone here was mad, it wasn't him…
The stench was worse near the edge of the forest. Guts befouled the air. Black shapes undulated around them, as insects crawled over one another and vied for their share of the feast.
Katrina squatted and lifted her eyepatch. This time there was no bed or wall to keep him back. Silas moved around the corpses, avoided the filth, and faced her. He gasped, fell backwards. His rear end hit the ground but he didn't feel it. He couldn't look away. Couldn't close his eyes. The scarlet iris and crimson sclera glared at him, held him — a bloody island in an ocean of gore.
She stood. Silas flinched. But she didn't speak or glance at him. Katrina strode into the wood. Silas scrambled to his feet. He ignored Sarminder's look. His mentor's eye glowered in his brain, but he was an apprentice and he had a job to do. She drew her sword. He did the same and his heartbeat quickened. The captain's sword hissed out of its sheath beside him.
Something rustled. He spun round, levelled his blade. A bird sprang off a twig and flapped away. Silas chided himself under his breath. But Katrina hadn't noticed. She paced ahead of them, first in one direction, then another. Her eye… eyes… scanned the ground. She stopped, lowered her patch, and grunted.
"The trail disperses. It's too faint to follow."
A dozen questions battered Silas' brain, but none found his tongue. Katrina turned to Captain Sarminder.
"We'll have to get our horses and search the countryside for any sign of it."
The captain snorted.
"Like tryin' to find a needle in a bloody hayloft."
"Maybe. But needles don't leave tales of missing farmhands and mangled corpses in their wake."
***
The forest thinned. Clara strained her senses, groped for signs of pursuit. An animal chittered — impossibly close. But it was just the sound of Rayya's teeth, chattering as she shivered. Clara threw her arms around the ice-girl.
"H… How're you so hot? Are you sick?"
"Don't know."
She rubbed Rayya's limbs, her cheeks, her hands. The girl's body creaked as though her legs would snap beneath her. Clara wished they could stop, huddle. That she could keep her friend warm and safe. But the Kharjis… That snake-woman… She nudged Rayya onward, guided and supported her.
Clara's stomach bubbled. When had they last eaten? A lifetime ago. Hunger seemed an alien thing. But when she spotted the bush, she broke off two sprigs of purple berries and passed one to Rayya.
"Eat."
Rayya just held it. Blinked at it. But Clara plucked a couple, put them in her own mouth, and she did the same. Their bodies burst between Clara's jaws. Blood prickled her tongue. Gore stuck to her teeth. She didn't want the rest, but forced herself to eat until Rayya was done.
"More?"
Rayya shook her head. A purple-black droplet trickled down the side of her chin. Clara wiped it away.
They stopped at the edge of the wood, as though they'd reached the end of the world and found an abyss instead of a field, a road, and a cottage. The house's shutters were closed against the daylight. Clara chewed her lip. At this hour, that probably meant…
"There'll be clothes inside," she said. "Maybe food."
"Doesn't look like anyone's home. And even if they were,
we don't have any money."
"We'll take what we need."
"Clara! We… We can't…"
But even as she spoke, Rayya shivered. She shifted from foot to foot and her whole face twitched. Clara's own soles ached, but she didn't know if it was sympathy or true pain. Perhaps they were the same thing now. She moved towards the cottage. Rayya didn't argue.
A garden gave onto the back of the house. Weeds sprawled in its flowerbeds, entangled the stalks. The girls crept between them and Clara stood on tiptoe at a window. She put her eye to a gap in the shutters. A bedroom. A wardrobe…
Purple fur. Pink claws.
…with four boots lined up in front of it. Small ones.
"Wait here," she whispered.
"Why? Where…"
Clara jogged to the nearest tree and returned with a stick in her hand. She fumbled at the window for a few minutes, but it wasn't hard. The latch flipped open. Doors and shutters… She'd once believed people were safe behind them. Now she knew better.
She pulled herself up and dropped into the gloom.
"Stay-"
"No." Rayya came up behind her, and Clara had to hold her arm to stop her tumbling back into the garden. "If you're going in there, I'm going with you."
Clara helped her inside and had never loved her more.
Dust coated the sill. It bore the shapes of their hands and knees. A grey layer smothered the table too, and the mirror frame that poked out behind a drape. In the corner, no creases marred the blankets on the bed. Clara's forearms tingled.
Both girls moved to the wardrobe. Clara hesitated, but an inner voice chided her. Did she think every wardrobe in the world had its own monster? She opened it. Just clothes. Kid clothes.
Rayya reached for a jerkin.
Wood creaked.
The bedroom door flew open. Clara hissed. Rayya yelped. The woman roared and swung her weapon at Clara Mandrake's skull.
7
Ghadi's hand froze. The poker hovered overhead. The olive-skinned girl moved in front of the other child. Her eyes glistened at the corners but gleamed and didn't blink. Behind her, the other girl trembled. Ghadi lowered her arm and the poker dangled from her fingers. She'd been ready for robbers, not a pair of frightened kids in nightshirts.
"Where'd you come from? What're you doing in my house?"
The one with the plait burst into tears. She held herself, bawled, and shook. The girl in front didn't quiver, but tears crept down her cheeks. Questions could wait…
"Here."
Ghadi backed away into the main room and beckoned. The girls didn't move. She followed their gazes. Embers glowed in the hearth and lent the room a little warmth, but didn't part the shadows. What child would follow a stranger into her lair?
In the corner, Yallis coughed. Ghadi went to the crib and stroked the baby's cheek. Floorboards creaked as the girls inched towards the room. A smile creased Ghadi's lips. Dangerous lairs didn't have babies in them. She moved to the hearth.
"I'm Ghadi," she said, as she built the fire.
After some moments, the olive-skinned girl said, "Clara. This is Rayya."
Light and heat reclaimed part of the room. Ghadi surrendered the space in front of the fire and sat by the crib. She rocked it with one hand, gestured with the other.
"Go on. Before you catch your deaths."
Clara went to fireplace. She waved Rayya over, but didn't take her eyes off Ghadi. A rat, ready to flee or bite. Rayya crumpled onto the rug. She sat there, hugged her knees, and shuddered. Clara squatted beside her.
"Are you hungry?"
"Yeah," Clara said.
Ghadi got up. She paused, then lifted Yallis and held the baby against her shoulder. Yallis coughed. Ghadi rocked her on the way to the kitchen. She worked one-handed, put bread and a lump of cheese on a plate. After a moment, she added a chunk of sausage.
Rayya didn't look up when she went back through. But Clara accepted the plate and murmured.
"Thanks."
Ghadi put Yallis in her crib and sat. Clara picked at the food first, passed morsels to Rayya. Soon both girls were eating. Ghadi didn't have the heart to interrupt them. They sat in silence until the plate was empty.
"What were you doing, going around like that? Where are your parents?"
Rayya's eyes met hers, then dissolved in a flood of tears. Clara clasped her friend's shoulder.
"Kharjis attacked our village." She rubbed Rayya's cheek. "We ran."
Ghadi didn't want to say the words, but she did.
"Your families?"
"They… They killed my mum. And Rayya's mum and dad."
Rayya's sobs hung in the air between them. Clara caressed her hair, hugged her.
"Do you have anyone else? Anyone who can take you in?"
"Dad died when I was small. Mum was my only family."
Rayya wiped her face, swallowed one last sob, and blew her nose. Life and light gathered in her eyes.
"Sachin. My brother. He lives in Lemstras." She turned to Clara. "He'll look after us."
The fire crackled. Clara and Rayya looked at one another but said nothing.
"I'll help you on your way," Ghadi said. "As much as I can. But you can spend the night here first."
"We can't…" Clara glanced at Rayya and fell silent.
"You need sleep." Or you'll collapse in the road, she thought.
Clara gave the smallest of nods.
"You can take Kahla's room."
"Is that your baby?" Rayya said.
A thousand things whirled around Ghadi's brain.
"Yes," she said at last. Because that would always be true.
She went into the room with the open shutters. Its own fireplace was a tiny thing. But after she lit it, warmth and brightness softened the chamber. Ghadi blinked at objects that now seemed… different. She ushered the girls inside. If she focused on them, she wouldn't have to think and remember.
"I'll bring some hot water, so you can get clean." Ghadi looked at the wardrobe, touched her tongue to her teeth, and mustered up the words. "You can take whatever clothes you want."
The girls thanked her in near whispers.
Ghadi sat up beside the crib as the gloom deepened. Creaks came from beyond the bedroom door. They matched the ones in her memories. She wiped away a tear, held her daughter's hand, and thought long into the night.
***
A twig cracked. Hands went to hilts, then relaxed when Jamsheed emerged from the darkness between the trees. He looked at Fahmaia and shook his head.
"I didn't find her, or any sign."
She nodded, sighed. He joined them at the campfire and warmed his hands.
"All of you, get some sleep," Fahmaia said. "I'll take the first watch. We'll wake early and keep looking."
Her half dozen warriors curled up beside their weapons. Wood crackled. Snores mingled with the sounds of fire and forest. Fahmaia murmured a prayer. Flames danced to the same cadence, till she didn't know which followed the other.
The girl scurried among the words. Their eyes had only met for an instant, with such distance between them. Yet her gaze fastened in Fahmaia's heart.
One of the sleepers stirred.
"Mawlana?" Jamsheed's whisper drifted amid the sparks.
"Yes?"
He sat up, and Jasmina twitched nearby. She mumbled something in her sleep. Jamsheed winced. He crawled close to Fahmaia and knelt there.
"I…" His jaw worked, as though it gnawed meat from a bone.
"Don't be afraid. You may ask whatever you wish, and it'll be between the two of us and Allat."
He nodded but didn't look at her.
"I killed an infidel, in the attack. She came at me with an axe and I cut her down."
"You did well."
"But…" Firelight washed one cheek, shadow the other. They stole the years and made him a boy. "But the one we're hunting… The girl… If I find her, I don't know if… She's just a child."
"Yes."
"Forgive me, mawlana."
<
br /> "I understand." She touched his knee. He flinched at first, then his muscles loosened, deflated. "Do you remember the tale of the prophetess and her daughter, at Mount Garwud?"
"Of course. Allat asked for a sacrifice…"
"Sacrifices are meant to be hard. If they weren't, they'd be meaningless gestures — not true tests of piety. The One Goddess knows best. Trust in her, and know she'll never despise you for your doubts. All you endure in her name will be repaid a myriad times over in the next life."
"Thank you, mawlana."
His jaw worked again, but he went back to his place by the campfire and lay down. After some minutes, his breathing deepened.
Fahmaia prayed.
***
Moonlight mottled the road and silvered their horses' manes. The animals trod the shadows without slowing, but every so often their nostrils flared, and the smell of their sweat thickened. It was a good, clean scent. Meadows and leather. Silas had always loved it. But any horseman knew what it meant.
He tried to catch Katrina's eye. Did she plan to ride all night? Darkness swallowed the landscape, hid any tracks or signs they may've found. A dozen corpses might lie in those fields. Unless that red orb of hers saw in the dark, like a cat's… And if so, she didn't bother to unveil it.
The road wound past a copse of firs.
"Good," she said. "I knew it was close."
Light poured from windows. A sign dangled above the building's door. Even from here, there was no mistaking the drumstick and the mug of ale.
"Oh…"
Silas tried to bite back his surprise, but it was too late. Katrina von Talhoffer slept on rocks and devoured live rodents. That's what the trainees said. They'd never believe she scoured the countryside for beds and decent meals.
"Inns are good places for information. If local labourers or passing travellers spot something strange, they talk about it in the public houses. Especially if the story's interesting enough to earn a drink."
Two young men sat on a bench across from the inn. A lantern swayed above their heads and glinted off the bottle they passed back and forth. One of them gulped down a mouthful of liquid, coughed into his fist, touched his cap.
"Take your 'orses, miss?" He jabbed a thumb at the outbuildings behind him.
Clara Mandrake's Monster Page 8
